Wit Is The Fruitful Womb Where Thoughts

A Woman Well Bred And Well Taught, Furnished With The Additional Accomplishments Of Knowledge And Behaviour, Is A Creature Without Comparison. Her Society Is The Emblem Of Sublimer Enjoyments, Her Person Is Angelic, And Her Conversation Heavenly. She Is All Softness And Sweetness, Peace, Love, Wit, And Delight. She Is Every Way Suitable To The Sublimest Wish, And The Man That Has Such A One To His Portion, Has Nothing To Do But To Rejoice In Her, And Be Thankful.

I Hear Much Of People's Calling Out To Punish The Guilty, But Very Few Are Concerned To Clear The Innocent.

We Are Very Fond Of Some Families Because They Can Be Traced Beyond The Conquest, Whereas Indeed The Farther Back, The Worse, As Being The Nearer Allied To A Race Of Robbers And Thieves.

In Their Religion They Are So Uneven, That Each Man Goes His Own Byway To Heaven.

So Possible Is It For Us To Roll Ourselves Up In Wickedness, Till We Grow Invulnerable By Conscience; And That Sentinel, Once Dozed, Sleeps Fast, Not To Be Awakened While The Tide Of Pleasure Continues To Flow Or Till Something Dark And Dreadful Brings Us To Ourselves Again.